


He's Got His Gun, He's Got His Suit On (And She Says "Babe, You Look So Cool")

by ravenclaw13



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, M/M, moody michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 08:52:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclaw13/pseuds/ravenclaw13
Summary: In which Michael is a lovestruck teenager and Tommy is the usual amount of dysfunctional.





	He's Got His Gun, He's Got His Suit On (And She Says "Babe, You Look So Cool")

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Robbers by the 1975 because, wow, have I mentioned how much I love Matt Healy? Takes place during Michael's birthday party episode. I'm not too sure about how I wrote Tommy in this one, so I'd love to know what you guys think!

Michael turns the watch over in his hand, the light from the street lamp bending across its glass surface. He strokes a finger over the chain, hears that voice, low and sweet in his memory “So you’re never late for work”. He feels a smile tug at his lips. Michael Gray. He thinks about that name, his name. Turns it over on his tongue the same way he turns the watch; slowly, curiously, with the slightest bit of disbelief gnawing at the inside of his chest. A new watch, a new job, a new name, a new life. It seemed too good to be true. 

He stands outside, despite the frigid winter air, his head leaning against the brick wall of the bar. Inside there’s a roaring party. Every Peaky Blinder he’s ever met, and quite a few he hasn’t, dancing and drinking and swearing the night away. They’re celebrating him. He knows that, of course, but as he ponders that fact in his mind he finds it to be rather unnerving. While it was certainly true that the Peaky Blinders were celebrating Michael Gray, he can't help but wonder if his name were just that, a name. Just words, with no man behind them. Because, really, he had only started to be Michael Gray again a few months ago. For most of his life he had been a farm boy in that small, pretty village where nothing ever happened. Just thinking about the monotony of his old life makes his palms itch. But tonight, beneath the smoggy Birmingham sky, he can't help but wonder if perhaps he had been in such a rush to escape that he hadn’t bothered to consider whether or not he could live up to the expectations of him here. In this new city. In this new family.

The work back at the farm had bored him out of his mind, threatened to drive him mad, kept him up at night pacing around his room like a caged animal. But at least he had known he could do it. There was never a doubt in his mind that he was capable of feeding and caring for the horses, or acing his subjects in school, or running errands for his mother. But here, in Birmingham with a new job and new responsibilities it was easy to wonder, when the dark crept into his room after sunset, if maybe he couldn’t live up to these people’s expectations of him. Maybe he didn’t have Tommy’s ambition, or John and Alfred’s bravery, or Isiah’s determination. Maybe one day Polly would wake up and realize she didn’t really care all that much for this strange boy from some farm out in the middle of nowhere. 

It was a cynical and melodramatic line of thought, Michael knew this, but his mind wandered down that same miserable path every night, despite his best efforts. And the worst thing to imagine on those nights, the worst thing by far, was Tommy’s face when he realized Michael didn’t have the courage, the ambition, the intelligence, the whatever else it took to be a Peaky Blinder. Yes, in these last few weeks he’d stood his ground on more than one occasion, in an effort to show everyone (Tommy Tommy Tommy to show Tommy) that he possessed the necessary capabilities to succeed in this nefarious line of work. But now he knew for sure that he had a future here, in this company; and he feared that his lukewarm attempts to impress his newfound relatives would simply prove too little in the long run. 

Michael sighs softly, thumping his head lightly against the brick of the wall he’s leaning on. It was probably normal for people in his position to worry about gaining the acceptance of their relatives, but at the same time Michael knows that his preoccupation (obsession) with gaining Tommy’s approval in particular has most likely begun to verge on unhealthy. It’s just that Tommy is so successful and ambitious and so fucking intelligent and Michael admires him. His eyes were always so cold and calculating and yet since Michael met him he’d seen Tommy display nothing but fair-mindedness and kindness toward the members of their family. His brows always pinched together, as if he had spent hours solving problems too complex for his young cousin to even begin to fathom. The slope of his nose, the curves of his lips the sharpness of his jaw. Beautiful. Elegant. Dangerous.

Standing outside beside the pub, allowing the totality of all his worries these past few weeks to occupy his mind, Michael can’t help but wonder if perhaps he’ll never be good enough to stand next to Tommy as an equal, as someone the older man can be proud of. Suddenly the watch feels heavy in his hand, dragging his palm to the earth, a burden he’s not sure he can carry. He returns the gift to his pocket and scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his mind. 

“Not a party boy then?” The voice rings out low and sweet, bouncing off the walls of the alley. 

“Not much of one, no. I can appreciate it on occasion, though.” Michael thinks his voice comes out particularly even, considering the palpitations in his chest.

“Oh?” Tommy speaks the word as a question, a smile hanging off his lips, one eyebrow raised. He stops in front of Michael, resting against the alley wall opposite his cousin with both hands in the pockets of his trousers. 

“Sure. On this occasion especially.” Michael knows its a kiss ass answer, and Tommy sees right through it, anyone would. The question it inspires is obvious: if you’re so pleased why aren’t you in there drinking and dancing with the rest of them? Michael thinks he sees that question on the tip of Tommy’s tongue, feels it hanging in the air between them, taking up all the room he needs for breathing. Tommy has the grace not to ask and after a few beats of silence the pressure dissipates. 

Micheal takes a deep breath glancing up towards the sky. Its an overcast night: silver stars hidden from view, behind of blanket of charcoal clouds . When he looks back he sees Tommy’s eyes, almost black in the dim light, staring intently at him. Michael ducks his head, then thinks better of it and reluctantly meets Tommy’s gaze, soliciting a smile from the other man. 

Tommy takes one step towards him, then another.

"You're afraid of me." Tommy states it as fact. His voice is quiet, but quite not a whisper.

“I, I don't, I'm not .... It’s a lovely night, don't you think?” Michael feels the words rush out his mouth before he can stop them, before he can think-

“No.” Tommy grins at him with blank eyes. Michael freezes in place, feet rooted to the ground, arms stuck at his sides.

(Tommy is dangerous. Tommy is lovely.)

And suddenly there’s a mouth on his cheek, then on his lips, and Tommy’s hands tugging at his belt.

Tommy presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Michael’s neck and then drops to his knees.

“Jesus Christ” Michael whispers into the frigid air.

~

Michael stands alone in the alley long after its over, stroking his fingers idly over the face of the watch and smiling into the darkness. His eyes are turned to the sky, which is now saturated with a dull silver light. "There’s the moon", He thinks to himself, like it means something, "there’s the fucking moon."


End file.
